Some widgets have options that are only available when you get a premium membership.

We've split the page into zones!

Certain widgets can only be added to certain zones.

"Why," you ask? Because we want profile pages to have freedom of customization, but also to have some consistency. This way, when anyone visits a deviant, they know they can always find the art in the top left, and personal info in the top right.

"Happy birthday . . . Mr. President . . . happy birthday . . . tooo you!!!" the stripper croons as she shakes her perfectly engineered, glitter frosted tits in the president's sweaty face. A secret service agent leans in close and whispers in the president's ear, "You can't say the Marmalade Mermaid doesn't love you Mr. President." Oily red-black fluid drips from the gyrating stripper's nipples and splatters against the president's good Sunday church shoes. "What's the frequency Kenneth?" she asks in an evil death metal robot voice as her belly begins to swell like a fleshy balloon. "Get DNA cuz that bastard ain't mine, I ain't even cummed yet," the president howls. The stripper's torso explodes, spraying the walls of the champagne room and the faces of the astonished onlookers with blood, guts, and bone shards. Her tumor-encrusted breast implants erupt from her tits and float through the air like balloons. A birthday cake, complete with pink frosting, burning candles, and an evil little face, flies from the stripper's ruptured chest. The evil cake's gaping mouth envelops the president's head. There's a horrible sickening crunch as the evil cake bites the president's head off. The secret service agents draw their pistols and open fire on the flying carnivorous birthday cake. The barrage of bullets passes right through the evil cake without so much as marring the frosting. A stray bullet bursts a tumor-encrusted breast implant balloon, bukakking the nearest agent with pink slime. The evil cake soars around the champagne room like a flying guillotine, biting the heads from each of the secret service agents, before breaking through the wall, leaving a cake-shaped hole, and disappearing into the night.

After nubile young Gretchen is picked up at the bus station by an attractive older woman, she soon finds herself esconced in a palatial mansion with a seemingly unlimited supply of fine sinsemilla and all the weird rich people food she can eat. Gretchen knows her rent and board will be taken out of her supple young body, but little does she suspect how much of it her gorgeous patron will seek to claim.